


Yester years

by ChangingbacktoBellamort500



Category: The Boys (TV 2019)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:54:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25829998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChangingbacktoBellamort500/pseuds/ChangingbacktoBellamort500
Summary: Before the seven, before life got overly complicated, and when her only focus was him.
Relationships: The Homelander | John/Madelyn Stillwell
Comments: 1
Kudos: 18





	Yester years

She woke him up with a kiss. 

Well, he was already awake by the time she opened his door; but that didn’t stop him from keeping his eyes shut, waiting for soft lips to press against his forehead. 

“Wake up. Come on, dear.” her voice sweet as candy. John makes a show of rousing from sleep, a feigned yawned on his lips. He sits up, smile like sunshine at her.

It’s December 11th, 2001.

Before Homelander became more than a job, before Madelyn started dyeing the greys in her hair. Before Vought had a hand in almost every part of the world, before the Seven, before she became anyone else’s manager but his. 

When her focus was always, and only, on him.

“I thought day offs meant sleeping in,” he faux-complains, grin never leaving his face. He gives Madelyn a once-over, catches the way she’s already fully dressed. A white, cashmere coat, black leggings leading down into brown boots. Her hair’s in that usual ponytail, a few gold strands intentionally out of place.

“Heroes never rest. Now, come on, we have a lot to do today.” 

It's only natural he listens. He showers, brushes his teeth, tries and fails to hide his smile when she fixes his purposely-messed up collar.

Madelyn doesn't tell him where they're going. He could hardly care where she's taking him, as long as it's just them.

——————

There’s a crowd full of people— adult couples borderline tipsy, kids with cotton-candy coated hands. It has John grimacing, and thankful that Madelyn didn’t have him wearing his hero suit. He stood out only a little, being the only one without a heavy coat.

“When you said we had a lot to do today, I imagined…” he starts, looking up at the ferris wheel. “...Something more productive.”

A kid runs by him, face covered in chocolate and caramel. The damn tyke bumps into John, and he can't help but wonder why parents aren't keeping these things on a leash. Madelyn notices the disgust on his face, and replies with a good natured roll of her eyes.

“Lighten up, honey. We have the entire day to ourselves!” she says, looking around as they make their way along the boardwalk. She stops at a stand, plucks a couple of hot pretzels, before handing a ten over to the seller.

He wasn’t cold to begin with, but the reminder him feeling warmed up inside. The entire day, just with her. John takes the offered pretzel with a smile, pink along his cheeks. 

—————-

He’s gripping the pole that’s apparently just… jammed into this horse statue. There’s no real appeal to this, riding around in a circle, but Madelyn seems to be having fun. She’s on the horse beside him, both of her hands holding onto the pole. They’re so small, and flushed from the cold. She should’ve brought some gloves.

“Did you know this carousel is almost a hundred years old?” she says, wry in her smile. Something in her tone tells him she knows he’s bored.

“I can tell,” he responds, dry, staring up at the chipped paint on the ceiling. There’s a short stutter every ten seconds, and he starts to wonder if this thing’ll break right here and now.

“They really ought to try and restore this thing.” she continues, hands squeezing, as she looks at the kids behind them. “Would be a shame to shut down such a legacy, don’t you think?”

“I guess so. We could always just buy this ourselves.”

“Huh. You’re right. Good thinking, honey.”

And though the praise is offhand, Madelyn not looking at him, it has John grinning something smug. The ride finally stops. He isn’t ashamed of the way he crunches the pole inwards when he steps off his horse.

———————

There’s really no point in ice skating when one can literally fly. That’s what he tells himself when his hands stay glued to the wall for purchase, legs struggling to stay upward.

Madelyn’s skated around the rink three times, and he’d be more peeved if he didn’t enjoy watching her. She keeps her balance with ease, gold locks flowing every time she turns. 

On her fourth round trip, she stops by him, that same knowing smile on her face. His frown’s a tease away from being a full-blown pout.

But she doesn’t tease him, at least not verbally. “Here,” she says, holding out her hands— still pink, still so cold. Maybe this is less about helping him, and more about just soaking up his warmth. That thought makes him less embarrassed, as he takes her hands, and lets her guide him away from the wall.

—————

“Make sure you don’t lean your head forward. I heard this ride causes whiplash.” 

He wants to roll his eyes at the warning. Surely Madelyn knows he flies up to three-hundred miles per hour on a slow day. An old, small roller coaster like this can't compare. But he nods anyway.

Her heartbeat gently increases, and John can't help but notice. Is she nervous? No, doesn’t seem like it. Looks more like excitement, and maybe that has him grinning.

“Your heartbeat’s a hundred and thirty over eighty-six,” he lies, smoothly, as the coaster starts to ride up. Leaning in, he attempts to talk lower, cool. “You know, if anything happens, I’ll be here to protect you.”

But before she responds, he hears the two teenagers behind them gag and snicker. Snot-nosed fuckers, eavesdropping. Blue eyes flash red, momentarily— but Madelyn places her hand over his, effectively dousing out his fire.

“My hero,” she coos, smile reaching her eyes. John gives her hand a squeeze, gaze softening. He hardly focuses on the raggedy rollercoaster with it’s short-stops and sudden-jerks— her two words just replaying in his head like a mantra.

——————

His first instinct at the sound of the bomb was to grab Madelyn, wrap around her like a physical shield. His eyes redden, as he turns to look over his shoulder and spot out the fucking moron that decided to try this today—

—Before he feels hands cupping his face, and Madelyn’s voice hastily telling him to calm down.

“Fireworks! Look, it’s just fireworks!” 

John blinks, blinks again, red fading back to blue. He looks up, cringes when another set of firecrackers blasts his damn eardrums. 

“Hey, hey, honey—the park, let’s go there. Why don’t you take me to Brooklyn Bridge?” and Madelyn talks in a rush, like she just shattered glass, and she wants to quickly sweep it up before anyone gets cut.

John doesn’t linger on her tone, and wraps his arms firm around her waist, before taking off to the skies. He’d be more hesitant, more aware of how close they are, if his ears weren’t ringing. 

They don’t land in the park, no— he lands on the tower of the bridge. There’s agitation on his features. Though the fireworks are long in the distance, he can still hear them, albeit not as jarringly loud. “I thought they only blasted that annoying shitfest on Fridays.”

“I’m sorry,” she quickly says, as he lets her go. It’s colder up here, if the way she hugs herself is any indication. “That’s on me. I thought— I thought you’d appreciate the gesture.”

“Appreciate the gesture? If I set off a machine gun right up next to your ear, would you appreciate that damn gesture?” said with a sneer. Madelyn frowns, hands hidden in her jacket. A foreign feeling clenches at John’s throat, and he swallows dry.

Why does he feel bad? She’s the one who dragged him around all day, around all these loud, annoying, gross people. Then, to top it off with a sudden migraine, what does he have to feel guilty about?

Fists stay clenched at his sides. He watches her walk over to the edge of the tower to take a seat, her legs dangling. A few cars drive below, across the bridge, frost tinted windows. Her gaze focuses on them.

Madelyn takes out her ponytail, lets her hair cascade over her shoulders. There’s a slight shiver to her frame.

John feels the fight seep out of him once again. He doesn’t understand it. Doesn’t understand how she makes him feel this way. Hands behind his back, he walks over, before sitting next to her.

The fireworks, when not blasting in his ear, do look nice in the night sky. Madelyn doesn’t tense, doesn’t react at all when he lies his head on her shoulder in some form of quiet defeat.

And when she puts her hand in his, he feels warmed, again, despite the fact her skin’s so cold, it’s bordering on yellow.

————————

It’s nearing eleven at night. Madelyn’s arms are occupied in carrying her coat as they walk down the hall. He’s peeved that there’s no opening to hold her hand.

Stopping in front of his room door, his mood starts to sour. This is the part where he stays here, in Vought, and she leaves to her own life outside of it.

"Did you have fun?" she asks, suddenly, looking up at him. Her lips are cherry red, and had John been braver, or at least had genuine experience under his belt-- he would've leaned in to kiss her. He wants to. But his hands stay at his sides, and he stands straight.

"Yeah," he says, not really a lie. The place was shit, and redundant, but… being with her the entire day was good enough. More than enough.

Madelyn smiles a personal smile. The one only for him, the one he covets and works for every damn day. She leans on her toes, and for a moment, he thinks she'll kiss him. His breath catches, and he closes his eyes-- only to feel her lips against his cheek.

He's not sated. Not in the slightest. But he grins, practically beams down at her.

Lingering for a little longer, she squeezes his arm, and says, softly:

"Happy Birthday, John."

Three simple words that short circuit his brain.

As she turns to leave, John just blinks. Is today his birthday? He always knew it wasn't actually the Fourth, that being some other bullshit Vought came up with for the patriotic image, but… He never bothered to find out the real date. It's not like it mattered, anyhow.

Except now it does. John watches her walk down the hall, longing coiled tight in his chest.

"Thanks…!" he shouts, a little too loud, a little too late. Madelyn smiles over her shoulder, and he catches a glimpse before she rounds the corner.

He's practically radiating sunshine right now, as he heads back into his room.

It was his birthday today. And he thinks, maybe, it was his best one yet.


End file.
